Muddy Footprints
by molly22
Summary: Mason fills his quota, leaving George hurt, angry, and confused. However, when, one year later, Mason mysteriously reappears, the whole gang is determined to deal, as well as get to the bottom of it.


Title: Muddy Footprints

Author: molly22

Rating: PG-13 (for language)

Pairings: Mason/George..Mason/Daisy in the past tense

Summary: Mason fills his quota, leaving George hurt, angry, and confused. On top of that, the new reaper is a girl who everyone–except George–seems to love. However, things spiral out of control, when, one year later, Mason reappears. George can't deal, Daisy needs closure, and Rube is determined to get to the bottom of it all.

Disclaimer: I don't own DLM. I wish I owned Callum Blue....If only....Anyway, not mine. None of it. Oh, except Caitlin.

A/N: I've been messing around with this idea for a while, and I finally decided on doing it. So yay for me. Please review, as I really love this idea. Oh, and in this story, the prologue (that'd be this current chapter) is narrated by George, but the rest of the story isn't.

- - - - - -

When life (or death, technically) is out to fuck you over (as I've concluded it is), you come to recognize the patterns. Which is why, when I have a good day, I worry. Because I know something bad is right around the corner. It's like fate or whatever puts you up on the highest stool in the kitchen, just so it can tip the stool over and send you careening towards the goddamn tile floor.

Nevertheless, when I have a good day, I sometimes forget about the signs. I just get caught off guard.

That's why, when I got to Der Waffle Haus, I was still smiling. It had just been one of those great sort of days, for no reason in particular. My death this morning was quick and clean, Dolores was acting fairly normal, and I had actually gotten a decent amount of sleep that night. But no big reason, no great shining moment in the day.

I was half-way through my second cup of coffee when Daisy slid into the booth so that she sat right across from me. "Georgia, I just had the most wonderful day."

"Yeah," I replied, "mine was pretty good t–"

"I met this man, this completely charming man. . ." I tuned Daisy out as she rambled on endlessly about her day. It wasn't that I didn't care–no wait, it _was_ that I didn't care.

I heard Roxy's shoes before I ever saw her face. Her shoes always sound so steady against the ground, her stride so purposeful.

As she stood over Daisy and I, I felt something bad coming. I remembered Fate's fickle game, and I cursed myself for not recalling it–and preparing myself–sooner.

Apparently, my blonde companion did not sense the danger, because she said, "Oh, my day was just marvelous, Roxy. How was yours?"

Roxy grimaced, then said, "I have to tell you two something."

"What?" I could hear the anxiety in my own voice.

"Mason–"

"Did Mason screw up again?" Daisy asked, slightly annoyed. "I honestly think he'll never learn."

"Dammit, Daisy, he didn't–" Roxy paused, then sighed. "Our appointments were at the same place. I saw him go over and take her soul. And then he was just gone." Neither of us understood just what Roxy was trying to say. She clarified, "Mason filled his quota."

Oh yeah. What a marvelous fucking day.

- - - - - - - -

Daisy and I didn't cry. Not really. She daintily sniffed back a few tears, while I proceeded to gulp down another cup of coffee. But we didn't sob, we didn't wail–hell, I didn't even get shed a tear, and my lips quivered not in the slightest.

I could tell, though, that Roxy had been expecting us to turn on the waterworks. She kept expecting this for a while, actually, warily eyeing Daisy and myself for a good forty minutes, before giving us a more detailed version of what happened.

"We were downtown, at that flea market. The one by that great Mexican restaurant. El Dorado, or La Tequila, or something like that. I don't know. Anyway, I took my soul. Some old guy. K. Foreman. He was one of those arts and crafts guys, kinda fat and kinda a pussy. Mason's mark was this girl. C. Vorman, I think. She was real pretty, with brown hair. About twenty-five, I'd say. Mason sweet talked her for a little while, then took her soul. And then he was just gone."

"Just gone?"

She nodded. "Disappeared into nowhere. Well, I ran over there as quick as I could. Didn't really realize what had happened. Then all hell broke loose. The deaths. There was an idiot skateboarder and homemade pies involved, and it was completely messy. Chaotic. By the time everything calmed down, I had figured out what happened to Mason. He was gone, moved on."

Daisy was taking this all in quietly, her eyes darting from place to place. Finally she said, so faintly I could barely hear her, "Oh."

"What about the new reaper?" I asked suddenly after a few more moments of silence. Daisy glanced over at me, curious. "This girl. C. Vorman, or whatever. If Mason filled his quota, then she's the new reaper. Right? Right?"

Roxy hesitantly nodded. "I, uh, I dropped her off with Rube. She's very upset. Timid little thing."

I didn't reply. I guess I was just caught up in my own thoughts. Not about Mason. About the new reaper. Was she reacting to her death like I had? Or was she calm, like many souls I have reaped? I also wondered what she was like. Was she more like Roxy? No, she was timid. Roxy wasn't timid. How about Daisy? It was possible. Great, just what I needed–another Daisy.

"Georgia, are you going home? Can I get a ride?"

I absently nodded at Daisy and stood. "Bye," I said to Roxy. "Uh, thanks." And then I left, Daisy shortly behind me.

Roxy, however, remained in the booth, her thoughts undoubtedly on Mason.

- - - - -

When we got home, both Daisy and I began to cry. She didn't know that I knew she was crying. She was upstairs, showering, but you could hear her sobs all the way in the kitchen, where I was fixing myself yet another cup of coffee. It was as I brought the dark liquid to my lips that it really hit me. Mason was gone.

And that's about when the tears started.

They weren't great big wails like those of Daisy. They were simply tears, which splattered on the counter and in my coffee. Silent and painful, I had never cried like that before.

When Daisy got out of the shower, a robe wrapped securely around her, she came downstairs. Her face wasn't red, her eyes weren't puffy–there was absolutely no proof that she had been crying. No proof except those horrible sobs I had heard earlier.

I had stopped crying as well, although I doubted I looked quite so fresh. My doubt increased as Daisy smiled understandingly.

Much as I hate it when people in movies share those phony "knowing looks," I must admit that when I shared that knowing look with Daisy it wasn't so bad. We both knew that Mason was gone. We both knew that someone else, some girl would take his place.

And we would go on.

I lay in bed that night pondering where he was. I hoped it was heaven, although he'd certainly committed his fair share of sins. I hoped he was happy, and there was plenty of drugs, booze, and women for him to be his same old self. I'd hate for him to be all sober and angel-y.

I thought and questioned and considered a lot of things that night, and well into the early hours of the morning. And I'm fairly certain that even if I hadn't drank all that coffee, I still would have lain awake, wondering.

- - - - - -

A/N: Don't turn away. There will most certainly be Mason in later chapters. And then lots of gut-wrenching emotions. YAY!


End file.
